


Untitled

by infinityandbeyond



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Season 8/9, Supernatural (TV) - Freeform, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5149298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinityandbeyond/pseuds/infinityandbeyond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Castiel,” Dean began quietly. “Can you hear me, Cas? Are you out there?” It was a hopeless attempt- he knew that Castiel wasn’t there. “Buddy, I need your help. Sam’s not doing well, and we need you… If you’re out there, somewhere, give us a call. Please, Cas.”</p><p>It was a short call for help, but he felt reluctant to speak any further. He was yearning to go back to the familiar cocoon of whiskey and denial, but he knew that it wouldn’t help him feel at peace. He didn’t think that anything would.</p><p>~</p><p>The angels have fallen, Castiel is gone, and Dean isn't really himself anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that I started writing three years ago, during the end of season 8 of Supernatural. The first draft that I wrote of this was disgustingly fluffy, and I've been spending the past few months rewriting this story to what it is today. 
> 
> This is the first piece of work that I'm posting to ao3; please do not repost on any other websites or translate without asking. All grammatical errors or other mistakes are my own. Thank you. x

Dean laid awake a couple nights later, unable to keep his eyes shut for more than a few minutes. The hunter feared what he might see in his sleep, knowing that the reminder of the angel that he once knew would break him even more. In the span of twenty four hours there had been a change in Dean’s mentality. He didn’t feel like the tenacious warrior he had been for most of his life, and, instead, he felt incredibly weak. Dean knew that his brother had noticed the change in his behaviour, but he didn’t have the motivation to reassure Sam that things were okay. Honestly, things weren’t¬ okay. He wasn’t okay. Sam was the only person Dean had talked to in the last day, but it was nothing more than a few sentences, and they never mentioned the obvious void they both felt. 

 

The following day Dean mustered up enough strength to get out of bed. He showered and dressed in clean clothes, and went out. He didn’t feel like spending another mundane day in the bunker, didn’t feel like spending another torturous hour alone with his thoughts; his sadness and guilt would surely suffocate him if he didn’t get out. Dean hadn’t informed Sam of where he was heading, knowing his brother would question him and convince him to stay back. The bunker had become something of a home to the two Winchester brothers- it was the one place where they felt truly secure, but Dean didn’t feel safe in the bunker anymore. He needed to leave. 

Dean found that getting into the Impala was a difficult task. It really shouldn’t have been, but it brought back memories of the night he and his younger sibling were leant again the side of the vehicle, watching helplessly as the heavens fell apart. 

With a scoff, Dean eventually climbed into his vehicle. He had hoped to have left his dark thoughts inside the bunker, but it seemed like they had escaped and followed him. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind and focus on the moment, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking back. 

As Dean drove down the road, the car ride was fairly quiet. The only noises that he could hear were the soft humming of the engine and the sound of the tyres pressing against the gravel roadway. For a moment, Dean felt at peace.

That peace was quickly cut short when Dean realised where he had driven to. His skin felt like it was on fire as he stepped out of his car. The church towered over him, and it made him feel the slightest bit intimidated. There weren’t many people around as he hesitantly made his way into the church, worn shoes scuffing against the¬¬ polished ground. Dean felt way out of his comfort zone in that moment. He felt paranoid that every pair of eyes was on him, when the other churchgoers really couldn’t have cared less. To them, he was just someone else who needed a helping hand. 

Dean did receive a small smile from an elderly woman as they passed each other. He guessed that she was attempting to convey feelings of comfort, so he returned the smile though he was positive that it had come out as more of a grimace. Dean couldn’t quite understand why he had thought coming to the church was a good idea; he didn’t have much hope and faith to begin with. Still, he walked down the aisle and found a seat in the middle, letting out shaky puffs of air as he clasped his hands together. 

For a while, he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to acknowledge the truth, but he had no other choice. He felt feeble; spineless; gutless. He didn’t know what else he could do but pray, even if it would be done in vain. Screw it, Dean thought. So what if he needed some peace and faith? He wasn’t weak for wanting that, and he wasn’t a coward for resorting to prayer, but he felt pathetic as he sat with his hands together. 

He had never been good at praying- he always made the mistake of wishing for too much, hoping for too much, and he would always end up disappointed. It was a mistake he had made countless times before. It was a mistake that he didn’t want to repeat.

But still, Dean let out a soft exhale, his hands clasped together tightly, his head hanging as he started to talk. 

“Castiel,” Dean began quietly. “Can you hear me, Cas? Are you out there?” It was a hopeless attempt- he knew that Castiel wasn’t there. “Buddy, I need your help. Sam’s not doing well, and we need you… If you’re out there, somewhere, give us a call. Please, Cas.”

It was a short call for help, but he felt reluctant to speak any further. He was yearning to go back to the familiar cocoon of whiskey and denial, but he knew that it wouldn’t help him feel at peace. He didn’t think that anything would.

Dean pursed his lips as he took a pause, the grip of his hands growing the slightest bit tighter with the blunt fingernails digging into the dry skin. He felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach and, in that moment, Dean was desperate to leave the church. It took everything that he had to resist the urge to flee and, as he did stand and walk out of the church, Dean was tense and silent, his mind racing with loud, nagging thoughts. 

Once outside the feeling of uncomfort remained, but Dean ignored it as well as he could, and strode towards his car instead. He yanked the door open to the Impala and got in as fast as his body would allow. He forwent the seatbelt and turned the key in the ignition, driving away from the church quickly after putting the stick into gear, and he didn’t dare to look back. Dean’s mind was running a mile per minute during the journey back to the bunker, with unpleasant thoughts continuing to pester him, but he stared at the road ahead with blank eyes and focused on returning home safely, rather than giving attention to the voice inside his head that was screaming of his cowardice. 

 

The next night, Dean laid awake in his bed once again, his eyes were wide open, burning and blood shot, and he had a pounding headache. The bunker was unusually quiet, but that was only because Sam had left a little past an hour ago, and Dean wasn’t really doing anything. He began to wonder what was holding his brother up, he couldn’t think of anything that could take an hour of Sam’s time while he was in a poor condition. Briefly, Dean wondered if Sam was off on his own working a case, but he dismissed the thought quickly, because surely not? Dean was still uncertain and he contemplated calling his younger sibling, just to be safe. A familiar ringtone sounded through the room before Dean could do anything else and it took him a short moment to realise that it was his own phone that was receiving a call. He picked the device up from the floor and answered it without checking the caller I.D. 

“Winchester,” Dean mumbled in greeting. He still wasn’t one-hundred percent up to the task of communicating, but he made a small effort this time. As he waited for a response from the caller, Dean forced himself to sit up, though he did slouch over tiredly and sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. 

“Dean. It’s Sam,” came the immediate reply.

Dean chuckled then, because it was a small coincidence for Sam to call him when Dean had been considering it. 

His shoulders and neck began to ache a little as he was slouching, so Dean leaned back against the headboard and stretched his legs out, letting out a short sigh before he responded to his brother. Though he seemed to take too long, as Sam was already speaking again before Dean could. 

“Dean, we have news on Cas. At least we think we do. Look, dude-“

“Where is he?” Dean interrupted, because that was one of two things that he cared about knowing about Castiel. He probably should have asked Sam what he meant when he said ‘we’, but he had more important things to focus on, like finding Castiel. “Sammy, where is he?” 

Dean heard a short sigh from the other line and he copied the sigh, though his was more impatient as he waited for a reply. When Sam finally spoke to him again, it was like a weight had been lifted and he could breathe again. 

“There’s a laundromat about three miles from the bunker,” Sam began to explain, and Dean could hear some shuffling on Sam’s end, so he guessed that his brother was looking for something of importance. “Head left from the bunker and go straight; take the second right after the bus stop and go on past the gas station; take the first left, and another right, and that should be it,” Sam instructed while reading from the sticky note. 

Dean relayed the directions in his head as he got off of his bed. He reached towards his nightstand and snatched up the set of keys resting atop it, giving a small grunt to indicate to Sam that he understood. 

“Alright. I’m leaving,” he told Sam as he exited his bedroom, striding quickly to the way out of the bunker. Once he’d exited, Dean made his way over to his car for a second time that day and quickly got inside. He hung up on Sam before any more words could be exchanged and he reminded himself to give his brother a thousand thank yous if he did end up finding Cas. 

When Dean sat in the Impala this time, he felt a sense of tranquillity which his newly found sense of relief correlated with. The feeling seemed foreign, distant, yet it was so familiar. Dean couldn’t deny the fact that he was so relieved simply because his brother had a possible lead on their missing angel, and, despite how hopeful he was, Dean was still prepared for disappointment, in case he didn’t end up finding Castiel at the laundromat, some miles away from him. 

Dean started his vehicle, taking a brief moment to appreciate the low purr of the engine. Before he went onto the road, Dean checked his watch and swore as he realised that the laundromat would close in exactly seventeen minutes. It would probably take him between five and ten minutes to get to the place, which didn’t leave him with a lot of time to find Castiel. He wasn’t willing to waste more valuable time, so Dean sped off down the road, heading left like Sam had directed. A few sharp turns, and some busy roads later, Dean ended up at the laundromat with seven minutes to spare. 

The Impala was parked in the empty lot carelessly, the driver struggling to get out with haste. Once he had both feet planted on the ground and the door to the Impala was shut, the key still left in the slot recklessly, Dean headed towards the entrance of the laundromat. From outside the building, he could see that the place was lit in a dim, pale white glow, from the tube lights on the ceiling, but he couldn’t yet see anyone inside. There was a moment where Dean contemplated just leaving, but he dismissed that argument and entered the launderette, scanning the place once he had full view of it. 

While his brother had guided him to the location with a hunch of finding the angel, Dean was still caught by surprise when he did come face-to-face with Castiel. Well, face-to-back, as the vessel was facing away from him and, even though he couldn’t yet see the man’s face, Dean knew that it was Castiel. He called out to him after a few seconds, just to be sure. 

“Cas, is that you?” Dean asked tentatively, because he just needed that confirmation. 

And then the guy with the trench coat was turning around and Dean found himself holding his breath, only releasing it when he discovered that yes, the man in front of him was Castiel, who looked a bit beaten and bruised due to the bloodstains on his shirt.

“Cas, what happened to you?” Dean asked his friend in concern, studying the dried blood and dirt stains. “Are you alright?” 

Castiel’s responding smile helped ease Dean’s worry just a little, but the hunter was still waiting patiently for an explanation. 

“I’m doing fine, Dean. I’ve been in a car accident. I’m okay,” was the reply that Dean received and he relaxed a little more when he decided that Castiel’s injuries weren’t too critical; he could easily stitch him up once they returned to the bunker. Dean nodded his head at Castiel’s words, but otherwise remained quiet. 

There was a period of silence where the two men just didn’t speak, instead looking at each other for assurance and for familiarity. It had been some time since they had last seen one another and, to put it simply, it was nice to be back in each other’s company. 

A smile was on Dean’s face as he made his way forward, in Castiel’s direction, after the brief and peaceful, quiet moment passed. He didn’t give a warning before he was wrapping both of his arms around the vessel and embracing him, being mindful of the wounds. Even then, he didn’t speak for a minute or so, knowing that Castiel would understand his feelings of pain, relief, and exhaustion, after the recent calamity and their days apart. Dean only squeezed Castiel a little tighter, smiling some more when he was squeezed back, knowing that Castiel meant it when he said that he was okay. It was clear to Dean that it wouldn’t be easy to solve the problems that were waiting for them up ahead, and things were nowhere near perfect, but he was okay and Castiel was okay, and that was definitely a start.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a part two to this, in Castiel's perspective. I started writing it a few years ago after finishing the first draft of Dean's part, so it's extremely unfinished and unedited, but if anyone wants to read it, I'll do my best to finish it and post it here. Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoyed it. x


End file.
